


Growing Up

by Johniarty



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Starjohn, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 16:03:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1161759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johniarty/pseuds/Johniarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has always been there for Sherlock, but now they're starting to notice each other in different ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Growing Up

**Author's Note:**

> An Anon asked me for some StarJohn Teenlock kisses, so I wrote a little piece!
> 
> And don't you fret, there'll be StarJohn Johniarty later. I promise. <3
> 
> StarJohn is entirely [ShootBadCabbie's](http://shootbadcabbies.tumblr.com) creation. Be sure to check out her amazing art if you somehow haven't seen it!

John had been by his side for years. He chased away the darkness, he kept Sherlock away from the temptations of isolation and drugs, he used his magic to heal every scraped knuckle and black eye and split lip Sherlock came home with. John was patient. John was kind. John was growing more beautiful every day.

It was very hard to take a glowing boy with threads of thick gold in his hair for a haircut, so he was starting to look a little shaggy. Sherlock had tried to cut it himself, once… it was a disaster. The scissors couldn’t cut through the glowing strands, so it was uneven and choppy and John had pouted for a week. After it evened out. he promised he wouldn’t go near his hair for a trim. Sherlock sometimes wondered what it would be like to run his fingers through it again, like he had so many years ago.

John was shorter than Sherlock, and broader, surprisingly muscular for a boy that chose to float everywhere. He usually wore loose denims and sweaters when he could be bothered to put clothes on, and Sherlock always thought they looked rather at home on his frame. Sometimes, he wondered what it would be like to take them off of him, despite the fact he knew what every inch of his body looked like.

Unlike people, John bathed in the light of the moon. “It just reflects light,” he’d corrected Sherlock one night as they stared up at the stars, “but it’s… it feels different, to me, than the sun. It’s nicer. Cleaner. Something about how silver it is… Does that sound weird?” Sherlock assured him he made absolutely no sense and they laughed until their sides hurt. Sometimes Sherlock would watch him, hovering in the air and sliding his hands over his skin.

John had started to stare. Sherlock remembered the day it began down to the exact second- April sixth, six fifteen in the afternoon, forty-three segments past the minute. They were down at the creek and Sherlock was wet from head to toe, hands clasped around a toad with a wide grin on his face. “I’m going to catalogue the effects of fire on dead, wet tissue!” He had called, turning to look at John. John’s eyes had been fixed on them, glowing with warm gold light that made the stormy blues of his irises stand out in stark relief. He was smiling as though he were daydreaming. Sherlock wondered if John would look at him like that again, like he was the maddest, most brilliant boy he’d ever seen.

He licked his lips twenty-nine times as he floated above Sherlock. Sherlock reclined on his bed with his eyes closed, but he knew. He knew the sound of John’s tongue sliding over his mouth. He played it in the halls of his mental palace over and over, dissecting every tone. Beside him, the bed creaked. John had come down. John was wrapping one strong arm over Sherlock’s bare chest.

"Sherlock…" He breathed.

"Yes, John?"

"You’re incredible."

Sherlock turned his head and smiled at him. “Thank you, John.”

John shook his head, sending golden dust scattering. “No, Sherlock, you don’t understand. I… I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re always on my mind, in the… in very strange ways.”

"Strange how?"

"… I want to taste you."

Sherlock’s breath caught in his chest. “You… taste? I don’t…”

"May I?"

He looked up into John’s eyes, searching out the sincerity in his gaze. “… Yes…”

John cupped Sherlock’s jaw with one warm hand and pressed their lips together. Sherlock reached up and threaded his fingers through the star-boy’s hair, letting out a low moan.  _Soft, so soft, and so warm… You taste like lavender and honey, like strawberries and cream, like everything sweet I’ve ever sampled all at once._ The boy slipped his tongue into his mouth and gripped his curls, the gentle kiss quickly turning desperate. There was a need Sherlock hadn’t anticipated, and it made his blood boil.

"John," he whispered when they parted, foreheads resting against one another. "John." It was as if he was naming him all over again, discarding the innocence of their childhood and opening the door to  _this,_ whatever this happened to be.

"Sherlock," John replied with a giggle.

"…What?"

"Your lips," he said, voice soft and almost breathless. "They’re gold."


End file.
